


Alberocalvo

by RubyComet399



Category: La vita è bella | Life is Beautiful (1997)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyComet399/pseuds/RubyComet399
Summary: Lucia Orefice, finds herself terminally ill and struggles to accept that she will soon leave her son Guido.OrI decide to post my English assignment on AO3 because why not





	Alberocalvo

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t say I am a fan of this film as I was forced to write this for English class this year (hence the pathetic word count.) Sadly, this is also—probably—one of the first pieces of fan fiction that I’ve actually finished and feel vaguely comfortable sharing with the world.
> 
> (When you receive a new text in class, does anybody else immediately browse AO3 to see what’s already been written?)

“Mamma!” Guido called, hopping down from the stump of a long-dead tree onto the sun-hardened earth, “Is it story time yet?”

“Maybe later my Tesoro, after the washing is done.” Lucia replied, pausing in her work to wipe sweat off her forehead in the heat of a midsummer’s day.

“Alright!” He nodded slightly, before bending down to pick a stem of sourgrass, chewing on it as she continued to work, scrubbing, wringing and hanging clothing.

She felt a bone-deep weariness as she tipped out the dirty water, swiping her damp hands on her worn apron. Moving inside to sit down heavily at the kitchen table, she buried her head in her hands, she was tired again, _too_ tired. She had tried to convince herself that she was just growing old but she wasn’t even thirty. Darkening vision, a ringing in her ears and a metallic taste in her mouth, a near constant by now. A week ago, she had coughed up blood and told no one. After all, they could never afford a doctor.

She was snapped out of her dismal thoughts by a call from Guido. She wearily glanced up, pasting a smile on her face, “Can you tell me the story now?” he asked bouncing on his heels.

“Of course, _Tesoro,_ what kind of story would you like to hear?” She pulled her son onto her lap, running her hand over his hair.

“One about Alberocalvo,” he replied.

“Alberocalvo?” _,_ she hummed, _Alberocalvo the land of the ‘fatas’ or fairies_ , “Of course _Tesoro_.”

A few weeks later, it seemed things had come to a breaking point. When Aldo, her husband, had found her bent over and coughing red into her hand, something had shattered in his eyes.

“Lucia,” he had muttered, pressing his forehead to his own, “I’m sorry.”

They both knew this was not something she would get better from, not without help from God, help that she did not think he would give. After all, he had never given it before.

Guido quickly caught on, most likely confused by the absence of breakfast the next day, and had wandered into their bedroom. She’d greeted him with a “Buon giorno, Tesoro.” Smiling warmly despite the pallor of her face.

Like the smart child he was, he had asked if “Mamma was well?”

“Just a bit sick,” she had replied, “I’ll be better tomorrow, Tesoro.” A lie, and she knew it.

She kept up the façade for weeks, but when Guido came into her room, quite obviously distressed, she knew there might not be much time left.

“Mamma? Babbo, _father,_ says you’re not going to get better!” Her heart clenched at his words.

“Not going to get better? I’m afraid your Babbo is wrong, ” she tried to smile playfully, “in fact, I’ll tell you a secret.”

“A secret?” Guido leaned in close, eyes wide.

“Yes! I’m going to go to Alberocalvo.” _Was it lying if it was for his own good?_

“Alberocalvo? But only—”

He was cut off by a finger pressed to his lips. “Shh! You can’t tell _anyone._ ”

“You’re a—” He said loudly before catching himself and whispering “a _fata_?”

“Yes! Fatas can’t leave Alberocalvo for too long! I’ll have to leave soon.” She explained sensibly.

“Leave? But Mamma! I’ll miss you!”

Her eyes stung with unshed tears fiddling with the hem of the patch-work quilt. “I know, Tesoro. But, because I’ll be gone,”

“To Alberocalvo,” Guido interjected.

“Yes, _to_ Alberocalvo, you’ll have to live for both of us.”

“Both of us?”

Lucia hummed in agreement.

“Alright!” he agreed.

She wasn’t really lying. After all, it was for his own good.

“Lucia,” Aldo said from the doorway, “Don’t lie to him.”

She tried and failed to not flinch at his words, only harsh because they were the truth.

“He’s old enough to know the truth.”

“I know, Aldo, but I—"

“—Don’t want to hurt him? Lucia, he’ll be hurt anyway when he realised you _lied.”_

“It’s not lying.” Lucia cried, defending herself in vain.

“Then what is it?”

She stayed silent for a second, “It’s love, Aldo. If I don’t, I’ve failed.”

After all, she remembered grief, the hollow and heavy feeling in her gut that felt like it would never go away. How life-defining the loss of a parent was, but a small part of her, like the embers of the dying fire, knew that her son, her _Tesoro_ with all his endless optimism would be fine.

She buried her head in her hands and cried.


End file.
